


A Tepid Vastness of Blood and Sand

by InPaisley



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Dying Athelstan, Lonely Ragnar, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sad, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InPaisley/pseuds/InPaisley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was something foul upon the air the waters brought. Something was wrong. Ragnar pressed his hands into the sand below the water, wondering in vain if Athelstan was touching the same sands across the way."</p>
<p>Ragnar and Athelstan are and ocean apart. Ragnar knows something is wrong and Athelstan is dying despite the best of efforts. With his religious loyalties in question, it is all Ragnar can do not to seek out his priest. And with his life tottering in the hands of the gods, Athelstan fights only to last until he can see Ragnar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tepid Vastness of Blood and Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping in! Ragnar and Athelstan are my otp! Cheers and thanks!

A Tepid Vastness of Blood and Sand

 

"Athelstan?!" Ragnar woke from his sleep at the sound of a scream. His eyes were blind with sleep and darkness as he fumbled for some clothing. He brushed out of his home into the moon slicked night, his breath misting on the fall air. His chest felt like a bird was flapping behind his ribs. It's jet wings rasping against his bones, it's taloned fingers digging into his heart. Ragnar couldn't breathe. He found himself winding towards the waters edge, where the moon illuminated the black sands.  
  
He had to touch the water.  
  
Something inside of him _had_ to touch the water.  
  
Ragnar knelt in the moist sand and waited for the tide to well around his knees. As the waters lapped at his skin, Ragnar cringed. It was warm. It was too warm. He looked out across the dark waters and thought of how similar blood and water look under the moon. The inky warmth washing under him sounded like the echoes of the scream he heard in the night. As sure as death, it had been Athelstan. His queer voice crying out Ragnar's name, the syllables clapping through his head like thunder.  
  
But Athelstan was not home.  
  
He would not be home for many weeks yet.  
  
Ragnar vomited into the oily froth of the tides. There was something foul upon the air the waters brought. Something was wrong. Ragnar pressed his hands into the sand below the water, wondering in vain if Athelstan was touching the same sands across the way. He wondered if his smart priest would count the grains of sand it took to reach him, just as Ragnar was counting the washing of the tides since he'd been away.  
  
Ragnar wondered if the water was warm with love or blood.  
  
He had felt both slick upon his body.

 

This warmth felt closer akin to blood.

  
  
\----------------------------

 

  
"Ragnar!?!" Athelstan's fevered eyes flickered through the dark air as the fire crackled beside him. Despite the uselessness of his right arm, he was putting up a violent struggle with his remaining limbs. Lagertha and Ecbert struggled to hold the poor boy down as he screamed that name relentlessly. His voice has gone hoarse hours ago, his cries now coming weaker each time.  
  
They had been at this since they'd found the priest laying face up, eyes in the heavens, with an axe buried half in his shoulder and half in his face. The two had thought Athelstan dead at first, but on closer examination they found him speaking calmly and quietly as blood bubbled on the sides of his lip. Neither recognized the language he'd been mumbling but they'd been sure of one thing;  
  
He'd been praying to every god who'd ever preyed on him.  
  
The night was falling as they struggled to help the delirious boy. They had carried him to their makeshift encampment on the beach and delivered the weapon from his body with a delicate ferocity. He'd gotten worse since then.  
  
There had been much blood. The sand stank of it.  
  
Though Lagertha and Ecbert were fairly linguistically crippled, they both could agree on putting as much pressure on the wounds as possible. They fumbled bloodily through familiar herbs and such things, pressing what they surely agreed on into the mess. As they'd worked, they'd not realized Athelstan's failing strength. The priest's cries were nothing but mumbles now. And when the two of them pulled away, they they saw something fearful in Athelstan's wan eyes.  
  
Lagertha cursed under her breathe and heft the boy away from the flames. Ecbert followed her as she gently cradled Athelstan into the sea. She sat down in the calm surf and held the faint priest in her lap. She wet his hair and smeared the sweat from his brow. The preist's breath barely caught as the salt water flushed his deep wound. He was beyond Lagertha now.

 

Athelstan's eyes were pure white in the moon.  
  
His fingers brushed the sand below the surf and Athelstan began counting the grains of sand that slipped between his fingers.  
  
"He's seeing Christ's face." Ecbert whispered, standing behind her in the waves.  
  
"Or the both of Odin's eyes." Lagertha breathed as if in retort.  
  
The only deity Athelstan's eyes bore was the pale eyed, raven god of the fertile soil and warm seas.

 

**Author's Note:**

> God, sorry it's so short! That's just the way it turned out! I might continue this, when I have time. It's kind of a just a for funsy thing. Again thanks! <3


End file.
